


Misery Loves My Company

by Pixeled



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24396829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: Later, as they lay together, Vincent thought it was all so sad. Veld was right there in the same building at HQ, but he’d avoided him for so long because he’d become a monster. Could no one accept him but himself? Years ago Veld had recognized him, but that was not an apology. He never got one. And now they wove around each other like fireflies in the dark.
Relationships: Vincent Valentine/Veld, WRO Vincent/Turk Vincent
Kudos: 11





	Misery Loves My Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valentined](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentined/gifts).



> To “Misery Loves My Company” by Three Days Grace and based on a very interesting RP.

What did he have to be sad about? What did he have to be scared of? He had no idea. 

He had no idea of the ruin that was his life, his body. He was still warm, he was still beautiful, he was still alive. 

1977 was a world away from 2010. It had been June when the storm that would bring him here intervened with fate.It was some trick of Gaia or Minerva, but for what? June of 1977 Vincent had been so different. He was not 27 yet. Winter of 1977, that was when he died. And before he died, there had been a snow storm that left all the scientists homebound. But he’d been prepared to trudge in the snow with Lucrecia to the ’59 pickup and take her far away. But plans were dreams that would never happen. He would be 27 forever. This Vincent had no idea the darkness that he would never descend into.

Yet there he was, curious and fresh from the shower, letting the towel fall as he stepped closer. 

“Let me see you,” he said in a low voice.

Vincent had never shown anyone. He didn’t even like looking himself, if he could help it. But this was different, wasn’t it? This was himself. Though feelings of deep regret, sadness, shame, guilt, envy, and anger were overwhelming him, he would do it. 

It started with slowly opening the lapels of his shirt. There were two more shirts under that, but it was a start. His long neck had a scar across his throat where his larynx had been severed and grew back all wrong. His voice was deeper now. He tended to save it because it could grow hoarse easily. He didn’t shout unless absolutely necessary. He could feel his counterpart staring so he leaned his neck back and let him touch the poorly done seam work that had affixed everything back together. Hojo was a doctor, but he was no surgeon.

Once the first shirt was off, he started with the black long sleeved shirt he wore to make sure no one could see the scars beneath. He removed that next. All that was left was the white tank top. The scars were visible through that, and his arms were exposed. He removed his gloves and exposed everything. His left arm was a mess. The colors didn’t match up between his forearm and the rest of his arm and hand. The top part of the forearm was the color of rot that had settled and partially healed, but would always hurt. The bottom part was a sickly and monstrous blue, stitched on like an afterthought. It was too big, and ended in a monster’s claws. The functionality of this arm was…not great. He usually covered it with a long glove when he was at headquarters and his gauntlet when he was afield. Vincent stopped there. 

“Are you certain you want to see more?” His breathing was ragged, which he honestly just realized. Which could only mean one thing, since he needed no air, no breath. But _Galian_ did.

“One of your eyes has changed colors,” his counterpart said, his voice full of wonder, not fear. He should be afraid. Vincent covered his eyes and attempted to slow and calm his breathing, to tame Galian, to tell him that it was all right. While his other head mates were sinister in nature, Galian usually appeared to protect him. Honestly it had gotten so much easier to control the transformations since Chaos had went into his slumber, but then, he had never attempted anything like this. His emotions must have been off the charts. 

“All right,” Vincent whispered, finally calming down. There was purple in his hair and his ears were a bit pointed, and there was the one golden eye, but he was calm again.

“What happened to you?” His counterpart asked.

“I’m not going into it tonight. One thing at a time.” 

Vincent nodded, waiting.

The elder of the two pulled the final shirt off. Beneath was a literal horror story of scars that didn’t make sense from one to the next unless you knew where to start.

“Gun shot,” Vincent said, pointing to the ruined cavern over where his heart should be. “Hojo shot me straight through the heart. It ricocheted and went out the back in a different spot. Even though it was a straight shot, it took what felt like forever to die. I could hear Hojo talk. He moved me on a hard cold surface. He pulled my jacket off.He injected something into my veins. I didn’t die then, but I _did_ die later. Several times, in fact. I was hooked up to an EKG, and I saw myself die. The needle again. The EKG went back to life. Everything was fuzzy, but I could _feel everything_. I was awake when Hojo fished around for the bullet, yanked it out, and shoved it in my face. I don’t remember what he said. 

“More injections. He severed my larynx while I was still conscious and I couldn’t scream. The larynx controls your voice box. When he fused it back together it was all wrong. My voice was deeper, gravelly, and I got tired after extended use of it.

“I died again. This time I stayed dead, but I was aware of everything going on. I was awake. Hojo performed a Y-incision which is typical when you do a postmortem on someone to determine cause of death. He knew _exactly_ how I died. He wanted to play with my organs. Inject them, cut them apart, see if they regenerated. They did, but all wrong. My lungs are almost always half-collapsed. My heart doesn’t beat and is half the size it should be. I would go on, but there’s no point. The other scars are lacerations, disfigurements. Hojo was jealous. I slept with his wife. I was better looking. Now look at me. I’m a disaster.”

“I don’t think so,” his counterpart said softly, running his hand through Vincent’s hair. “We look lovely with long hair.” He moved a soft human hand toward the ruin of Vincent’s chest. “Can I…feel?”

“Okay,” Vincent said, trying to stop any fear from pronouncing itself.

The feel of someone touching him was better than he would have imagined. There was fear, yes, but this was himself. Even if there was judgment, which he read no trace of in the younger man, it would be _his judgment_. No one had touched him in over thirty years. Did this count?

“Can…can we…?”

“What?” Vincent asked, even though he knew exactly what. It was strange, but he wasn’t totally adverse to the idea. It’d been so long, and there was no chance of it happening with anyone else. 

“Can we fuck? We know exactly what we like.”

Inelegant, but then he had spent a lot of time around Veld.

“Okay, but I’m on top. Vincent clenched his jaw again, obviously thinking it through. He was right, sort of. In a manner of speaking. This was an impossible situation, a ridiculous response was appropriate.

"I don't have lube," he said at last. He'd gone without lube plenty of times, but he was stronger now than he was then, he was _bigger_ now than he was then. 

He _did_ have that unused bottle of conditioner in the bathroom, in case it turned out to be necessary. That might...was he really going to do this?

He was really going to do this.

He exhaled. "Fine." In a series of movements almost too quick to track, Vincent pushed his counterpart onto the bed with ease that was absolutely inappropriate for someone with his frame. "Eyes and teeth are fine," he said, climbing onto the bed and hiking his younger counterpart's leg up over his shoulder. "Fur and claws are...acceptable." He all but loomed over him, looking down through glowing eyes. "If we get to horns, you make me stop. Understood?"

His counterpart nodded slowly. “Don’t worry about the lube.....I’ll work myself open,” he said breathlessly. “No big deal....” He was really going to do this. He should find it weird, but it wasn’t. It seemed almost....natural.

"I'll be careful," Vincent rumbled, holding him down against the mattress almost effortlessly. "If you change your mind, we'll stop." 

He circled his counterpart's neck with his left hand, claw-tipped fingers digging into the mattress, icy blue skin a stark contrast to the flushed column of the younger man's throat, to which he applied just the slightest bit of pressure—not enough to choke, not even enough to lessen his ability to breathe, but just enough to increase his levels of adrenaline.

"But I don't think you will."

His counterpart’s eyes rolled back and he stuffed his mouth with three fingers, sucking on them in and out obscenely. Vincent watched, his glowing eyes taking it all in. When his younger half’s eyes rolled back down they were heavy lidded and he had coated his fingers enough, but he sucked on each one for show, moving his arm down so he could slide in the first, breathing shakily. “Choke me,” he instructed. “Really choke me.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Do it.” Was this how bossy he’d been in bed with Veld? He did genuinely fear his own strength so he put a gentle amount of pressure around his neck, which seemed to be enough by the moan it generated. 

His counterpart continued to fuck himself open until he started slicking up Vincent’s cock. Vincent grabbed that hand and pushed it down into the bed, which awarded him a breathy sob. When he sank inside him, his younger half arched back and sobbed out even louder. 

That’s when the elongated teeth appeared. He could feel it. He always could. 

Was he always this vocal in bed? As he started pushing inside his counterpart, the whines and the cries mounted. His head thrashed. The one arm that wasn’t pinned encircled Vincent’s neck. 

“Harder,” he gasped. 

Vincent tried his hardest to gauge what was acceptably hard and what would possibly kill the poor thing, which was hard to do when he could feel Galian pressing hard against his chest and skull, begging him to come out so he could do a better job (no, he’d _definitely_ kill the poor thing).

As the pistoning of his hips sped up, he got so lost in the feeling of his animal instincts that he forgot about Galian, forgot about his fear of killing his counterpart, and his lizard brain took over. He was close. His counterpart looked so lovely arching beneath him. To think, he used to look like that creature beneath him. They were barely recognizable, and yet Veld had known it was him all those years ago when he found him in his coffin, when he promised to come back for him. Vincent let the thought disappear from his head as he drove faster and faster, harder and harder into his counterpart. He leaned in and whispered “are you going to come?” Into his ear.

His counterpart clung desperately at him, panted out “yes, fuck….don’t stop….right there…” They were looking at one another. Vincent’s eyes had turned fully gold, his jaw had turned vaguely lupine. He knew what he must have looked like. But his counterpart only looked up at him with sex-mussed hair, half-opened eyes, mouth panting—not a trace of fear.

That’s what drove Vincent over the edge more than anything else. The absence of fear. And as soon as he let go, his counterpart did too.

Later, as they lay together, Vincent thought it was all so sad. Veld was right there in the same building at HQ, but he’d avoided him for so long because he’d become a monster. Could no one accept him but himself? Years ago Veld had recognized him, but that was not an apology. He never got one. And now they wove around each other like fireflies in the dark.


End file.
